Arcane Adept
by Raxychaz
Summary: Prodigious in the art of firestarting and with a temper to match, a ward of the state gets tussled up with magic, nobility and general Azerothian contrivances.
1. Chapter 1

"Get back here you cowards!" Roared a voice, a man's voice. The sounds of feet hitting the ground of Redridge Mountains, the forests surrounding Lakeshire were filled with Blackrock Orcs, not part of the new Horde, but remnants of the old.

"Shit, that crazy tranny is gonna burn down the forest!"

"Someone shoot the bastard already!"

"No way! Did you see his hair? Guy's clearly a fairy, not goin' near 'im!"

"You call yourself an Orc? Get in there and gut this pink-skin."

"Do you all think this is a game!?" Bellowed the man, fire began to rain all around them, the earth was scorched and riddled with ashes, fires leaping from trees into the skies.

From beneath the man's feet exploded a great wave of flames, he charged after the fleeing orcs with reckless abandon. He'd torched the stone tower overlooking the lake of Redridge Mountains in his fury, the fires being doused by a duo of Water Elementals, the interior was scorched and would take weeks if not months to properly prepare but the man wanted to make damn sure he purged that annoying gnat of a caster from within.

The man in question was a youthful looking twenty-something with long black hair that was tied away in a ponytail, falling down to the middle of his back, a few stray locks diligently framed the left side of his pale face, a pair of bright blue eyes filled with fury at the mockery from the orcish brutes.

The reason?

He was a Mage, and as such wore dark red robes to augment his ability to draw on the powers of the arcane, with the correct enchantment a Mage could don heavier armour, but the young man wasn't _that_ well off so couldn't afford something so exuberant without indebting himself to his benefactor.

The Orcs apparently believed he was some roving transvestite who was soft in the head and enjoyed burning their huts.

"I'm going to start burning you all now, and I don't know when I'm going to stop." The young man said with a furious scowl, eyes filling with arcane might as he swept a hand across the landscape, sending a large, unstable arc of fire rolling through the already charred glade.

Fire cleans all, such was the addedge of a good pyromancer, but it also allows for growth, 'Before creation, comes destruction', and all that jazz.

To be fair, he hadn't exactly given much evidence to the contrary about the hut burning.

The man's hands exploded in fire as he drew his arm back like he was throwing a ball and proceeded to throw the gathered energy in his hands that, upon impact with an Orc's left leg, exploded in a shower of cinderous sparks, that blinded one of his comrades.

In place of another Fireball the man thrust a hand forward, a great thrum of energy left his hand in an instant, a Fire Blast struck the same Orc reducing him to ashes. With the same hand the young man swept his hand to the right and released a Scorch Spell.

The Scorch was aimed at the dry grass beneath the orcish warband, it exploded into flames with a little sneaky control he surrounded them in a ring of fire.

"Johnny Cash, mother fuckers." Snarled the Mage, eyes glowing hot like fire as flames crept up his arms, with a thunderous clap of his hands he released a spell of his own design, still in the beta phases, a black cloud opened up over the orcs, who were divided in trying their luck with the ring of fire, or phalanx'ing to shield themselves from whatever this crazy human was going to try.

A quartet of soccer-ball sized fireballs fell from the cloud and exploded on the ground, killing the orcs in cleansing fire, but also filling the air with a rancid scent, the Mage dusted off his hands, patting down a small fire on his robes and frowned.

"They were supposed to be meteors." Grumbled the young mage with a frown. "Better than last time though… took me months to figure out a spell to grow my eyebrows back… without them being feathers." Thought the Mage as he rubbed the back of his head, walking past the charred chaos he left in his wake.

"'Go to Redridge' they said, 'It'll be fun' they said. Lying assholes. When I get back to Stormwind I'm burning down their culty little library, lying fucking Warlocks." Rambled the human.

A little context?

This young ray of sunshine was Menma, of the Noble House Prestor. He was an orphan of circumstance before coming under the Prestor name, his parents had both been slain in the Scourging of Lordaeron by their Lord Baron Rivendare, in the name of the Lich King.

Menma had been taken away from their home in Lordaeron by his Granduncle, Tobirama, a renowned Mage of Frost in his heyday, and brought to Stormwind. Not even a month after arriving in Stormwind. Tobirama died in his sleep, leaving Menma enough to get by for a time, and with no small supply of arcane journals and tomes.

The snag was that as an Orphan of ten years, his belongings were taken by the state and put away into the libraries of Stormwinds Wizard's Tower.

Of course, Menma took exception to this, and proceeded to burn several of the Towers wards in a fit of childish pique. This in turn drew the attention of the Guards, and of course, the king. Who demanded the vagabond explain himself.

After searing the King's chin with a Scorch spell he was confined to the Stockades for a month. During this month he was visited by one Lady Katrana Prestor who found the young boy's talent for magic and general 'screw the rules' mindset useful for whatever schemes she was cooking up.

She offered Menma her name if she could use his talents when he was older - and mature - for the 'betterment of Stormwinds prosperity'. Menma demanded the woman stop feeding him shit and speak clearly.

He saw something in that woman's eyes that day, and it stirred a primal fear in his gut when she said 'I like you, boy.'

The scariest fucking thing he'd ever heard a woman say, because it sounded like 'I'm going to eat your soul, boy.'

She paid his way through school, and in turn he did mundane errands the Lady cared not for, she kept to herself and he to himself, theirs was a relationship of convenience, though heavily weighed in the Lady's favour for many years.

Menma begun to make a name for himself amongst his peers as a troublemaker and a nuisance, but he cared little for their words, he would carve his name into Azeroth if it killed him, he'd mold magic and craft spells the likes of which even Dalaran could not conceive.

So far, he'd made a small Meteor Shower, because Magic wasn't a fucking game.

Menma rubbed his hands together as sparks of electricity began to gather, before slowing fizzling back out, "Augment the natural electricity within the human body with mana, sooner or later I'll be able to use it for more than just sparkles."

Experimenting with more than just the recommended three branches of magic for budding Mages hadn't actually been as hard as he'd initially expected, a few of the teachers within the tower had praised his want for diversity amongst his selection when it came to offensive magic.

Lightning-based spells weren't unfamiliar to the school of the Mage so much as they were just few that weren't directly related to shamanism. Lightning for a mage was typically used to supercharge their bodies and in turn, regenerate their mana and health much quicker than usual at the cost of eventual fatigue.

Menma had been experimenting with controlling and fusing various spells, such as the Frostfire Bolt, one of the few Fire and Ice spells taught at the academy, this spell was the catalyst for his path, the very evidence that magic was both malleable and all that it took to create new magic, was dedication to the craft, and the iron will of perseverance.

Menma looked around the wreckage that was one of many Blackrock Orc camps within Redridge and his eyes turned towards the North, towards the Burning Steppes and by proxy, Blackrock Mountain.

"Kill my kin, will you? Well you ash skinned filth, I'll show you how light-damned dangerous an angry Mage can be."

"You. Human." Grunted a voice, Menma turned quickly at the sound, the book chained to his hip whipping up and around with the haste of the movement, the creature that spoke was an Orc, this one donned in heavy, black robes, a single spaulder on his left shoulder was wrapped in mana-soaked and woven cloth, it sucked in the ambient magic in the air, any caster could see this.

This meant that the creature's abilities could be cast faster, and recovery.

"Warlock." Menma ascertained with a scowl.

"Mage." The Orc said in return, "You slay my kin. Blood price be paid." He said in a rough attempt at the human common tongue.

Menma's scowl was steadfast, as a trio of Imps crept out from behind the Warlock, bloodlust in their beady little eyes. Menma was happy with his talents in the arcane, but Warlocks tapped into something thicker, darker, they used the very essence of the Twisting Nether to unleash great powers upon their foes, the energies of the Fel demons they summoned were _not_ to be trifled with.

"Seems like we're at an impasse, it would be a shame if you… BECAME A SHEEP!" With a flick of his wrist and a hasty twist of magic, Menma Polymorphed the Orc into some horrifying Orc-Sheep hybrid, the creature began to scream in horror and agony, the Imps began laughing at their summoners suffering, Menma immediately Blinked away about two dozen metres, to gain some ground.

The Warlock was in complete agony, Menma was _horrible_ at the Polymorph spell, molding the very molecules of a creature into that of another form, that being said… the results were quite impressive on a live subject.

Menma spread his feet apart and weaved his hands in a circular motion, a great orb of fire began to form, with each circular motion it grew denser, and dripped near-molten globules of mana. With a thrust of his palm Menma sent the Pyroblast sailing towards the Orc-Sheep, throwing a hand up a blue disc of frozen energy opened up above the Imp and their deformed Master, just as the Pyroblast struck, thick, razor-sharp shards of ice began to fall down into the Orc's body courtesy of the Blizzard spell.

The Imps bounded away a short distance, to avoid being incinerated and eviscerated, their Master was not so lucky and the Orc was reduced to a pile of soggy, charred meat.

Four Fel Firebolts sailed Menma's way, he threw up a hands once more and a thin, blue shield formed around him, a Mana Shield was a less intensive form of the Ice Shield that most Frost Mages conjured with ease.

The Fel Bolts were nullified one the barrier of Menma's shield, but it also popped after just one round, Arcane magic began to gather in his hands as Menma pulled his right hand down, a blanket of dark purple magic fell around the imps as Menma cast a Mass-Counterspell, disrupting the dangerous Fel Magic and causing several _pops_ as Imp bodies were reduced to cinders and twiggy bones.

Menma pulled a cloth from his back pocket and wiped the sweat off his forehead, he walked over to his impromptu quarry and knelt down at the Orc's side, with a scowl he pulled the shoulderguard off the corpse, looking over the heavily damaged piece of cloth armour Menma hummed and lifted a single finger up, ice began to quickly grow around it as he used the sharp shard to cut up the mana-gathering cloth, pulling his right glove off after he'd done so the young man stood up, found the nearest tree stump and sat down, only but a few metres away from his conflict.

Dipping into one of the pouches on his hip he pulled out a needle and a spool of dark blue thread, over the course of roughly thirty minutes Menma managed to sew the mana-gathering cloth into his glove, and with the excess gave it a flare cuff to fold back down, pulling the glove on he felt the newly created 'magic item' attune to his own flow and sync up, slowly but surely the gathering cloth went to work and he felt his depleted reserves building back up.

For the sake of symmetry Menma rolled up the sleeves of his robe and folded them to just above his elbow, whilst he did only have the one cuffed glove so the symmetry was thrown-somewhat he felt it balanced it out more.

Slowly but surely Menma retreated back to Lakeshire, rubbing his head as he walked down the well-traveled path, looking around he took in the bright sunshine, the crisp autumn air only slightly stained with the smokey taste of ash from Blackrock Mountain to the north, the grass surrounding the roads had a soft green colour whilst the falling leaves from the trees were browned and ready to pass through the seasonal changes.

Menma dipped his head to the road, watching his feet as he walked, the only company he had was the soft clipping of his boots against the hard dirt trail, he had to pass through the recently liberated lumber yard to return to Lakeshire.

The lumber yard had been overrun by vicious green spiders, spitting poison at anything in sight, the whole yard had to be refurbished, men and women were already hard at work doing just that, a contingent of guardsmen guarding the perimeter, as he entered the yard he was given a polite greeting from one guard and a shoulder slap from another.

"Hard work today, lad?" An older man, beneath his helm one could see dark green eyes and grey brows, "Look a little worse for wear."

"Orcs aren't exactly fond of having their encampments burned down." Menma explained with a shrug, the Guardsmen chuckled lightly at that, having more than had enough grief from their orcish neighbours, and hearing of their misery brightened the day somewhat.

"Well you've done right by takin' their lot out of our lands, done right by us." The Guardsman said with a firm nod, offering his gauntleted hand to the Mage, Menma accepted the firm handshake with a small smile.

"I'll go and let the mayor know you can begin taking back territory past the tower." Menma thumbed over his shoulder and a slightly worn tower overlooked the lake of Redridge, and what a lake it was.

"Bang up job, Caster." Said the opposite Guard, audibly younger.

"Make sure to keep an eye out, I did take a scorched earth approach, but Light only knows if some of the pigs managed to escape." Menma said as he continued walking through, he _had_ reduced a good portion of the forest to ashes burning the orcs from their encampments.

The anger he felt bubbling in his guts when he killed them, the fury that burned hotter than any fire he could produce, he _hated_ Orcs, he hated them more than anything. He hated them because of the look in his Grand Uncle's eyes when he spoke of the Orcish invasion, the dead look in the old man's eyes haunted his every day, the sheer despair in the man the echo of torment that permeated his body and mind was constantly pushed onto those around him.

Tobirama had once been a brilliant scholar, a Frost Mage without peer from the city-state of Dalaran, a member of the esteem Kirin Tor, but after he lost so much to the Orcish invasion and then to the Scourge, it was all too much for the old man's heart to weather anymore.

It was his old man's memory that fueled his hatred so, the Orcs, the Scourge. Mixed up with the general angst of youth and one had a volatile mixture, magic power aside.

The tense thoughts must have been conveyed when he began walking once more, as none of the workers dared come near him, the stormy look on the young magus' face was more than enough to deter any gratitude they may have had.

 **Stormwind City; Two Weeks Later**

Menma had returned from the task to purge Redridge Mountains of the Orc menace, earning himself a hefty purse of gold for his trouble. He was glad not everyone had that near insane desire to adventure for a living, because the market would be completely saturated and his own talents would surely be passed up.

The only downside with all the enchanting material he'd bought, he was kicked back to where he started somewhat, though it was completely worth it.

The Mage's Quarter had many shops and essentials, the most important being _quiet_. The lack of noise outside of chirping birds and students being instructed allowed one time to think, the Quarter itself was very relaxed, even the buildings looked to have been made in a manner to mellow one out what with the various blue and light purples on the roofs.

There was grass instead of cobblestone, like the rest of the city, around the area. Magically looked after by the few Druids that lived within the Quarter, Night Elves, obviously. The few trees in the Quarter were sturdy oaks with thick green leaves, shading the benches under them, only making noise when the wind passed through.

Menma usually took moments like the one he'd had that morning to take stock with his life, he was 24 years of age, a grown man in his own right, with his own home, filled with enchanted items to make life easier for himself, he'd become a true independent since his old man's passing, even if he technically wasn't what with his relation to Miss Prestor.

She would regularly gloat about him to the other nobles and whilst he did nothing to deter the woman, in fact taking her gloating as the go ahead to pursue his path with greater vigor, it did grate on the nerves whenever one of those that endured one of her various sessions sneered at him.

Currently the young mage was sitting at one of the various benches dotting the Mage quarter, he was writing down the method for the Meteor Storm spell he'd been working on, in its current state it was basically a Fire-based Blizzard that exploded on impact, but still it was progress.

"Excuse me, sir." A voice said, Menma looked up from his book, dark blue eyes finding the form a younger male, an apprentice, donned in basic robes, scruffy blond hair and bright green eyes, a throw of freckles across his cheeks.

"What can I do for you?" Menma asked, snapping his spell book shut and leaning forward to give the child his attention.

"Magister Dumas has asked you to come see him, sir." The child said quickly. Menma nodded and stood, as he passed he pat the child's head.

"Get back to class, kiddo. Delivering messages is for familiars, not people." Menma ordered lightly, and the boy did just that, scampering off with haste. Menma watched his retreating form before disappearing in a flash of arcane energy.

Appearing back in his room he threw off his white shirt and with a flick of his wrist clothes flew out of his wardrobe, a dark red robe/coat with a golden, silk sash, his now-identical cuffed gloves, thick riding boots of kodo leather, because he was a man who liked the finer things in life, along with black trousers.

With the gold he'd earned he'd managed to acquire enough arcane dust and shards to outfit himself with two full sets of augmented clothes. His coat, now could take an axe-swing from an enraged dwarf and be unscathed, that one took _a lot_ of effort, but was totally worth it.

His boots were enchanted with feline agility to allow him better maneuverability in the heat of battle, his gloves drew in mana, his sash acted a second catalyst for area based spells, such as Arcane Explosion, and Blast Wave increasing their power.

His pants were enchanted with comfort, +10 resistance to saddle-sores.

Disrobing from his daily life clothes Menma donned in 'uniform' and dusted off his shoulders to straighten up his robes, on the way out he accepted the dark gold scarf from Argen, his suit of enchanted bronze armour, closed the door behind him.

Menma did a cursory double check of the pouches sewn into his robes and smirked, it had taken _years_ of effort to get his habits so precise and consistent, but thank the Light he'd managed it.

It made life so much easier to be prepared _and_ a walking weapon.

With another flash he entered the Mage's Tower, climbing the circular ramp and entering the portal therein, this swirling gate of arcane energy transported one to the Wizard's Sanctum, Menma had yet to actually learn where it was technically located but it was a grand library where the highest ranking mages of the order dwelled during 'business hours'.

Magister Dumas was Menma's mentor, he was the one who took the boy on when Prestor began funding his education, Dumas was a very talented Mage in his own right, well versed in the Arcane, and one of the few who left Dalaran to assist with bringing up Mages for the Alliance.

Menma's accomplishments were Dumas' accomplishments, his failings, his victories, his trials and tribulations. All reflected on Dumas, the older man was relieved that his first apprentice had turned out so well, that being said not everyone had Menma's sheer driving force.

It was either an extreme case of empathy, or a twisted mind that set the boy on his path, all calling back to the death of his parents and the death of his Granduncle.

Maginor Dumas, a man in his early forties with light brown hair, intense blue eyes and lightly tanned skin. He wore a dark purple robe with blue accents, a pair of gold and blue shoulderguards that, when paired with his sapphire circlet, augmented his ability to draw from Azeroth's ley lines three fold.

"Ah, Menma good of you to come so quickly." Greeted Maginor with a nod, Menma returned the nod and stood with his feet shoulder width apart, his arms crossed behind his back.

"You called for me, Magister." Menma said crisply.

"You needn't be so formal, my boy." Maginor said with a fond chuckle, the boy remained in his stance but the visible relaxation in his shoulders gave a physical act to his acquiescence of the 'command'.

"May I know why you've called me, Maginor?" Questioned the younger man with a slight turn of his head.

"You may." The Magister said with a nod, gesturing the boy to sit with him, Menma did so, crossing one leg over the other to display his boot, one habit Maginor wasn't completely pleased was with his apprentice was his need to showboat in subtle ways.

"I wish to bring a matter to you, far to the north, we've received word that an old magical artefact has been uncovered by some of our dwarven comrades, in the very heart of Khaz Modan. This artefact isn't something to be trifled with." Informed the older mage, his voice grim.

"And _what_ exactly, is this relic?" Questioned Menma with a raised brow.

"We believe it to be the an item from the time before the Sundering. An ancient necklace from the Highborne elves." Menma's eyes widened somewhat at that, "Now you understand the severity of the task, I offer you this mission as a formality, but in short you are being sent like it or not."

"Any particular reason you've chosen me to head this expedition?" Menma questioned with another quirk of his brow.

"Because you've soaked my lessons on handling and caring for artefacts better than anyone else in this order, you know what needs to be done and I trust you not to recklessly endanger yourself or anyone else within the immediate vicinity." Dumas said with a solid stare, locking eyes with his apprentice.

"A sounds reason… Am I to assume others will be coming along? I'd be amazed if such a find didn't warrant more attention." Menma questioned further.

"Indeed, you'll obviously be working with the Explorers Guild of Ironforge, along with an elven liaison from Darnassus, whilst they as a people reject the arcane they are the only ones able to fully understand the severity of artefacts such as this." Menma nodded, that was solid reasoning.

"There also comes the caveat that for the assistance of the Mages Guild in Ironforge that one of their juniors will be tagging along for the task, and if you so choose it, you're given the right to apprentice them." Dumas informed getting a slight nod from his junior.

Given the right to take an apprentice was one of the first cornerstones of being recognised as a truer mage around Stormwind and its allied territories, a mage was only as good as their spellcraft and their students.

Thus why Jaina Proudmoore was, whilst a hero in her own right, looked down upon for never having taken an apprentice, it was considered selfish of her to hoard her knowledge the way she did.

"Return home, and pack accordingly, you'll meet your liaison back here within the hour." Instructed Dumas, Menma nodded and stood, the pair exchanged a cordial handshake as the younger magi left the sanctum.

 **Stormwind City; Mage's Quarter, 1 Hour, 13 Minutes and 42 Seconds Later.**

Menma was either tapping his foot, or pacing back and forth, Dumas was quiet as the stone. A figure came up the way; a dwarven woman with long orange braids and bright green eyes, oddly sunkissed skin, a wolf's pelt thrown over her shoulder, dark blue plate armour across her chest and arms, a pair of dense stone hammers chained to her wide hips.

This was Agatha Stonebreaker, an old acquaintance of Menma's from his apprentice days, they'd run into each other by accident, some brat had tried to swipe her coin purse so Menma burnt his ankles and beat him black and blue, apparently Agatha found that incredibly amusing and bought him a drink.

First pint of ale at 11, what a day.

He'd acted as a go between with a few other of the young between the Mages of Stormwind and those within the Mystic Ward, training under the gnomes for a few months had been an illuminating experience, he'd gained a fondness for the diminutive race, their approach to anything in life was to constantly push the boundaries and share that knowledge with their allies.

"Are'ya ready to head out som'time this centr'y lad?" Questioned the woman with a quirk of her brow.

Menma stopped pacing and turned to face her, bowing at the waist, one leg slightly forward, one arm across his chest and the other behind his back, just as Second Mother taught, "Forgive me, Lady Stonebreaker, my elven liaison does not appear to have an appreciation for punctuality."

"Ahk! Wadda say about bowin' to me, lad? Wha' kinne gesture's that to a friend of friends, now c'mere and gimmie a hug you soft-cock!" Menma flushed at the woman's words but she seemed unhindered and managed to drag him down somewhat, two hardy thumps onto his back and he was released from the 'hug'.

Menma sighed and ran a hand over his hair, "Agatha it's called professionalism."

"It's called been a wee baby." Countered Agatha with a smirk, punching his hip getting not a wince, but a frown in return, "Ooh! Looka you, able to actually stand after a punch. Is my lil' mage boyo growin' up now?"

"I enchanted my robes to nullify a good portion of damage from non-magical sources." Menma informed with a sigh, dusting off her impact point, she slapped his hand away but gave him a lecherous grin.

"There be magic in these 'ands, boyo." Agatha flirted, shamelessly. Dumas looked away to hide his amusement but the poor younger magus was caught flat footed.

"..." Menma 'said', opening and closing his mouth, "That's highly inappropriate to say in a public setting, Agatha!" Finally managing to get words out he chastised the woman, looking around, praying to the light no young apprentices were in earshot.

"Maybe for you wanky 'nobles' but dwarves are straightforward." Agatha said, waving him off.

Menma gave one more look around, it looked like the goddamn knife-ear wasn't coming after all. "Let's get going, Agatha. This is ridiculous." He began concentrating as a spiral of arcane power swirled around him, the Mage visualised the Mystic Ward of Ironforge the smell of the few incense burners, the sound of the fountain out front, Menma held out a hand and a portal to Ironforge opened up.

"After you." Menma said, gesturing Agatha in, the woman shrugged and disappeared as she entered, Menma following suit.

Dumas kept the silent vigil for another twenty minutes, and still the liaison didn't show up, "I'll need to have a few words with our allies if such lack of care can be taken for such an important find." the older Mage muttered with distaste.

 **End of Chapter.**

 **A re-do of Arcane Adept. I've decided to give another swing at this, without running so rapidly into retardation, like last time.**

 _ **Raxychaz!**_


	2. Chapter 2

**Foreshadowing abound.**

 **Enjoy.**

 **Dun Morogh; Frostmane Digsite**

After clearing out an entire troll encampment from the cave in question Menma, Agatha, their mutual acquaintance Trixie Blastfuse, and the Explorers League filled the previously Frostmane Hold to the brim with diggers, earthmovers and several grunts to operate it all.

Menma strode into the uncovered chamber, there was a thick red rope around a thick, jagged shard of ice that almost scraped against the 'ceiling' of the icy cave, atop the shard was a single ruby coloured gem set into a golden falcon clasp, wings spread around the gem whilst the head of the avian looked skyward, all in all a beautiful piece of craftsmanship.

Menma knelt on the ground and closed his eyes, slowing his breathing and centering himself to feel out the ambient magic in the room, vaguely hearing the small footsteps of the gnomish magus behind him.

There was magic in the amulet, this was to be sure, it seemed to be a simple preservation enchantment, but with how pristine it was and how long it _had_ to of survived, the enchantment must have been done in the halcyon days of the Highborne empire.

"It shouldn't be an issue to just grab it… why exactly did you need a Mage from Stormwind to come out just to check on this?" Menma questioned the gnome standing beside him, hand on his cheek in thought.

The gnomes bright yellow eyes nearly glowed within the low light of the dug-out cavern, almost as much as her bright white pigtails.

"Tradition mostly." Informed the gnome, her high pitched voice almost childlike in nature, "We gnomes learnt magic from you humans, it seemed only right to have one of you along to verify a discovery."

"Seems a little extreme to pick someone like myself _specifically_ for 'tradition'." Menma countered with a narrow stare.

"Well maybe I just wanted to see what kind of cutie they'd send our way?" Questioned Trixie with a wide, smile and a coquettish bat of her eyelashes.

"Bullshit." Countered the human Mage with a smirk, getting a snicker in return she quickly joined him in her own squeaky laughter.

"But really, none of us really wanted to go poking around with Highborne artefacts, you know how antsy those elves can get when you touch their stuff?" Trixie the levity in her tone was undercut by the way she visibly wrung her hands in nervousness.

"We don't know what the ancient elves were capable of hiding in their trinkets and the last thing anyone needs is a Night Elf looking at them all disappointed-like." She continued, sheepishly.

"'Tis a shame then, that our 'expert' is suspiciously absent." Menma muttered with half-frown, he stood up, dusting off his trousers as he did so, in one hand he conjured a small flame to warm the stiffness in his joints from kneeling in the snow.

Trixie could only nod, one part confusion one part concern on her pixie-like features.

"Well let's get set up in here, just because I couldn't detect anything off the bat doesn't mean we're working with something harmless here." Menma said as he turned on his heel and left to fetch his equipment.

"I kinda thought you'd just… grab it?"

"It's that kind of thinking that leads to corpses, Trixie my dear." The black haired youth said with a snicker of his own.

* * *

 **That Night; Frostmane Encampment**

Night had fallen, the colds winds of Dun Morogh blew with a soft howl, fires were erected just outside the cave to warm the tents near them, and to provide light to those within and without, several of the Explorers League guardsmen patrolled the area with a steely resolve, this was barely a tickle to the dwarves.

Several lanterns were strewn through the cavern as dwarves busily moved about delving deeper and deeper into the hollowed out cavern, with one artefact found they strove onward to seek more and more knowledge within, this appeared to be an ancient receptacle for Highborne arcane lore, that in itself made the mages quiver with excitement, the sheer prospect of learning, indirectly, ancient techniques in his the arcane arts? And then sharing that knowledge unto his people and their allies with smugness none could truly comprehend?

Priceless. Truly priceless.

Within his tent the magical consultant of the expedition studied the artefact they'd recovered, several journals were strewn about, a half finished meal of delicious dwarven soup.

Pumpkin, pork, and hops, not only was it filling, it got ya good and fucked up.

It helped that Trixie was much more used to such meals and had more tolerance, because she unintentionally kept him more lucid just by being there.

Though it was indeed one of the better meals he'd had for a while, he was drawn to an almost obsessive extent to the necklace they'd uncovered, studying the ancient ruby yielded much, he could taste the old magic the permeate from it, the old whispers of arcane knowledge just waiting to be uncovered and tapped into.

Menma was looking over the necklace under one of the many arcane aparati he'd brought with him for the occasion, the piece had several miniature runes placed upon it, an elemental warding rune, a preservation rune that was far above anything he'd ever seen before, even an augmentation rune.

Shamelessly he sketched the runic design to patent for his own wealth and gains, yes he'd share magical knowledge at each turn with those who could handle it, but he also had to look out for himself and taking something so - in context of the find at large - minor for himself was hardly devilish.

It appeared though, that whomever had this necklace before was a magus of some kind, which would align with what he'd read of the ancient Highborne.

He'd copied all of the runes from the piece into his journal for usage later, though the results would vary depending on what kind of arcane dusts and what kind of crystals he'd use, but those were thoughts for later, what _really_ intrigued him was that this very stone, was not some mere ruby.

It was a Soul Stone.

A _full_ Soulstone.

"Great scott…" Muttered the Mage with a loose jaw, "TRIXIE!" He shouted, scaring the everloving shit out of the poor gnomish apprentice, but quickly she gained her bearings.

"Really!?"

"Wanna help me see who's inside?" Menma asked, grin still firmly in place, she nodded so quickly he thought she'd take flight somehow, instead he stood and walked towards what appeared to be a small, mobile metal altar, it vaguely resembled a candlestick in appearance, though obviously longer and thicker, with a small gap at the top, incense sticks jutted out from the side, these would place more ambient mana in the air, thickening it up to allow whatever was inside to appear for a short time.

Menma placed the necklace into the small dip atop the instrument, laying it over the focusing iris within, with a snap of his finger the incense began to burn, slowly the air within the tent was filled with a soft blue sheen, Menma breathed deep and blew a ring of sparkling dust.

"Ahh… I can totally understand how the _High_ Elves went crazy for this stuff…" Admitted the Mage with a smile and a chuckle at the poor joke, the soft hum in his blood when he ingested the magic giving him a slight buzz.

A figure slowly began to take shape as Menma used the focusing iris to bring the spectre to bear, a Highborne began to take shape, a male, eyes like bright, glowing silver, his body was otherwise transparent but he wore a flowing, ornate robe with a wide scarf draped over his shoulders, good taste.

" _Ah… to see the material world once more, it has been so long._ " The elf said with a soft smile as he crossed his arms behind his back, looking around the tent.

The elf must have noticed them properly either due to the sheer befuddlement on Menma's face or the small size of the almost shaking-with-glee gnome.

"I didn't think you'd be able to speak our language, old one." Menma admitted to the soul with confusion.

" _Truly? 'Tis not a tricky spell to perform, thankfully I had the forethought to imbue it upon my soul vessel, but where are my manners? I am Archmage Yol'Tithian, it is a pleasure to meet you, fellow caster._ " The Highborne tilted his head politely so Menma did the same.

"I am Menma, of House Prestor. I am a human mage from the city of Stormwind, it is an honour to meet you, Archmage." With a nearly reverent bow from the human the Highborne's eyes shifted to the gnome.

" _And who is this adorable creature?_ " Questioned the elf with a small smile.

"I'm Trixie Blastfuse, a mage of Ironforge!" Greeted the bubbly gnome, "Are you really a Highborne Archmage!? That's amazing, what kind of Magic did you do? Did you teach many people? Were you one of Azshara's nobles!?"

Menma for all his noble control wanted to ask very much the same but had to bite his lip, Trixie has no such filter it seemed, the elf ghost laughed heartily, from what he'd read on the Highborne they were usually quite reserved in nature, as they had all the time in the world to express themselves.

"Forgive our excitement, Archmage, it's not often one gets to speak with an old soul such as yourself." Menma apologised, a flash of rose in his cheeks.

" _No need for apologies my new friend, how often does one have a chance such as this? I'm quite excited myself. Simply put, Ms. Blastfuse, I was an Archmage thought typically in charge of the scribes within Suramar, as a scribe my duties lay with putting to paper all of the new magics created within our empire, recording and keeping history, I was less a teacher and more an advisor to those who required me, but yes I was at one point a member of the Queen's court, though during her… debacle, with the demons I found it more prudent to place a safety measure, and create this vessel to house half of my soul, whilst the other half lived on in my body._ " The Highborne explained succinctly, looking off somewhat, as though remembering it all playing out before his eyes.

"Hmm…" Menma pondered for a moment, "How dangerous would it be to wear your amulet, Archmage? All the tests I've run have been somewhat inconclusive and my experience with soulstones is passing at best."

It was with some swallowed pride he admitted to himself it may have been a good idea to bring a Warlock on the trip, but he'd die before he admitted it aloud.

" _Perfectly safe unless it's cracked, you did check this, I trust?_ " Menma nodded so the scribe continued, " _Then you'll find no grievance from me, you would be doing me quite the favour as I could look into the world through your eyes, and if you wish it, as a trade I'd happily teach you a few tricks._ "

Menma swallowed the caution that was caught in his throat, dark spirits were easy to pick out, this was a fragment of a good man, a wise man, a man who had dedicated his life to the arcane craft, and a mere fragment could not possess a full soul, no matter how powerful.

"We've a deal, Archscribe." Menma said with a firm nod as he offered his hand to the spectre, a mere showing of trust, the spectre smiled broadly, his ghostly hand 'clasping' onto the younger magus' hand.

" _Please, call me Yol. All of my friends did._ " With that said, the spirit dispersed and the incense ran cold, Menma plucked the amulet from its resting place above the iris.

"I'll trust him." Menma said firmly, to himself and to Trixie. "But if I seem off, or I start talking elven without letting you know ahead of time, shoot me in the back." The smaller mage nodded, gulping thickly as her more experienced superior pulled the amulet around his neck and let it rest over his beating heart.

Menma felt an odd tingling sensation all over his body as the object bound itself to his soul, the runes affixing themselves to his magical flow in order to begin functioning, Menma rolled his shoulders somewhat.

"Not entirely unpleasant." Menma mumbled to himself as he fiddled with the amulet a little, "All clear Trixie, you may return your tent. I'll write up everything that happened tonight." Trixie dizzily left the room, Menma sat in his chair as Yol appeared once more.

This time there was colour on his form, it was like he was flesh and blood before him. Silver hair cascaded down the man's back, bright mage-blue eyes looked at the human with mirth visible dancing in their glow, his skin had that off-blue colour all Highborne boasted, his robe was a rich purple in colour with brilliant gold accents, visible enchanted to a ridiculous degree.

His scarf was elaborately decorated like a tapestry, it depicted ancient, troll looking creatures gathered underground, then a great well of power, possibly the Well of Eternity, then a silver woman seemingly rising from the well, and within three pictures the trolls changed from their original form to that of the Night Elves.

This single scarf revealed more to him about the Night Elves than any of his studies on them had, the idea that the creatures known for the elegance and intelligence originated from _trolls_ was both amazing and incredibly amusing.

" _Ah, I see you've an eye for history. Yes this little number was created by my apprentice as a gift during her ascendance to the station of scribe, rather quaint isn't it? The greatest empire to ever walk Azeroth was once a group of grumpy cave trolls._ " If this fact ever bothered Yol'Tithian, it appeared it didn't any longer, because the amusement of that statement echoed into Menma.

"Well… shall we begin talking about magic?" Menma asked, leaning forward behind steepled fingers.

" _That sounds like a rather good idea, I'd almost be inclined to call it a great idea. So, young… human? Yes, human. Tell me how it is you mold the greatest power on Azeroth._ "

* * *

 **Two Weeks Later; Frostmane Encampment**

Menma paced back and forth as he eyed the items laid out on the table before him, Yol was almost giddy over their recovery, " _This is my old staff! Marvelous condition, I really must thank Illidan for his assistance in fortifying it against the ages… and my sisters broach, I thought this lost! I know not where this dagger came from but it looks familiar enough! Marvelous indeed!_ "

Yol'Tithian had proved himself a trusted ally over the short time they'd been bound together, a prime consultant on magical practices, along with an amazing tutor for the young magus, Menma found a kinship with the older man he'd not found in any of his peers, someone who truly wanted to test the very limits of the world around them, it just happened the Yol had more experience in this matter.

The gushing of the Highborne Archscribe was rather endearing, if only slightly grating. Menma looked at the staff, a simple oaken wood with a sharp end, capped with what appeared to be mythril, the head of the staff held a dark red crystal clasped by vines shoot up under it.

The broach appeared to be an onyx spider with a golden clasp, rather ornate in nature and with a faint magical presence but nothing overtly interesting at first glance.

The dagger was a crescent shaped blade that reflected moonlight to give it a silvery sheen, it hummed softly whenever it was swung, the pommel held a sapphire-like gem whilst the hilt was wrapped in thick white leather.

"Anything you want to do with these items, Yol?" Menma questioned as the elf was so pleased to find them.

" _Well it'd be rather fitting that my new friend hold my staff for me, the broach holds a charm on it as my sister was quite fond of spiders, should you encounter any they'll be completely passive to you, the dagger appears to be a moonblade, only Queen Azshara's assassins would carry such blades, I haven't the foggiest how it ended up where_ I _did._ " Admitted Yol, " _Take them, I've no use for them without a body, and I doubt your friends around here could handle the power within anything but the broach._ "

"How do you mean?" Menma questioned, a queer look on his face as the statement registered.

" _Well from what I've seen, your enchantments are soft compared to ours, the binding of an object to a Soul is no simple process, you give a little and you take a little, so does the item in question. Whereas enchantments from my ages become intertwined with the wielder, removing the item through force could be incredibly detrimental. It was considered a barbarous crime in my days to even lay a hand on another casters prized items._ " Informed Yol'Tithian with a shrug.

"Remind me to covet them closely then." Menma asked with a chuckle as he held plucked the staff off the table and allowed it to begin resonating with him, "Any little tricks this has?"

" _Of course!_ " Yol said, as if offended, " _This is my staff of that I'd crafted after taking up the title of Archmage, I warn you though it does have quite the kick to it and given your preclusion to cast with your hands instead of a staff it will take some getting used to._ "

"Good to know… maybe with it I can finally perfect my Meteor Storm." Menma admitted as his hand tingled, the staff seemed to create the same kind of hum that ingesting mana did in his bones. It was quite pleasant to hold it.

" _Oh indeed, though I'm sure together we can concoct more than mere meteors, how's your Arcane Barrage?_ " Questioned Yol.

"It's alright, I suppose. Not exactly my forte." Menma admitted with a slight shrug.

" _In my day, casting a meagre Arcane Barrage through my staff would duplicate the spell four-fold._ " Informed the elder caster, " _Its uses are immense when employed properly_."

"My word… You know, I haven't properly expressed my gratitude for your cooperation, Yol'Tithian. So allow me to say thank you, from the bottom of my heart you are a true help to me, and have been a wonderful companion these past few weeks." Menma placed a hand over his heart and bowed at the hip.

Yol smiled brightly a placed a hand on the younger casters shoulder, " _It is my utmost pleasure to to do, young one. It is most rewarding to swap theories and ideas with those of the common era._ "

"Any inkling to visit your descendants?" Menma questioned suddenly, only just now did this occur to him.

" _I suppose it would be nice to see how those hippies are getting on, from what I've managed to glean my peers were thrown away by the Kaldorei._ " Yol visibly rolled his eyes at the idea, a slight air of tension sprouted from his words.

"I've never really been a fan myself, I've always been interested as them on paper, but the few Kaldorei I've met are usually dicks." Menma informed what little tension grew bubbled away with Yol's laughter.

" _Such crassness! Your speech patterns are so strange to me._ " Yol admitted with a small fondness in his smile.

The sound of leather flaps being thrown open followed Agatha's entrance into Menma's tent, the young magus turned to greet the dwarven woman only to be slugged in the leg.

"Oof! Light damn it woman what's your problem!?" Menma demanded sharply as he groused.

"Good, yer still all there boyo. Hear' you bloody well chattin' in 'ere to the air too many times tah count recently." Agatha rumbled like a grumpy bear, a small, blue eyed bear with big boobs.

" _Well that_ is _a rather strange image isn't it._ " Yol said thoughtfully, off to Menma's side.

"It's called research you hyper-aggressive walking keg!" Menma snapped sharply, getting a cheeky grin in return, "If I didn't have Yol'Tithian to consult on these items we'd be here for months! Sorry if the intricacies of magic escape your narrow world view but I'm not, 'taking to the air' I'm speaking with the spirit of _living history!_ "

"A noble pursuit, lad!" Another voice joined them, this being a fellow human, though he had the distinctive dwarven accent.

His name was Elijah Ironstride, he was currently studying under Tomli Majellas - the expedition leader - Elijah had short blond hair and doe brown eyes, his skin was pale - rightly so considering his environment - he wore thick bear furs over his uniform, thick leather boots trudging against the snow with ease.

"Speakin' of history, is there much progress with this week's haul?" Elijah questioned with a grin, his accent thick despite growing up with human parents.

"Indeed, this staff was Yol's able to amplify magic to a devastating degree. The applications of such an object is astounding, the broach is of sentimental value really but it does have a pacification enchantment on it directed towards arachnids, finally this knife appears to be a 'Moonblade' used by Queen Ashzara's assassins. It seems to warp the air around it, I suspect some kind of 'Blink' enchantment on it, but I've yet to test it." Menma informed, getting a surprised look from the younger man at the mention of such a deadly blade.

"Truly? How intriguing, and here I thought the Queen was all about flowers and bunnies, or at least… that's how she was supposed to appear." Young Elijah frowned, "I've not found myself overly fond of this dig, truth be told… I feel so out of place with all these elven artefacts."

"Nothing easy was ever worth much." Menma said simply.

"Excep' 'ookers. Bloody expensive them." Agatha said abruptly.

Menma choked on his breath and Elijah burst out laughing, Agatha just stood there like the cat that caught the canary.

* * *

 **Ironforge; One Month Later**

The dig had ended well enough, the ruins were brought back for study, that which could not be moved was sketched out with charcoal and paper. All in all no more true relics of practical use were recovered, and the various - expectant - stares of the Ironforge dwarves for Menma to leave those he carried on his person went ignored by the young mage.

It was only after explaining the soulbinding process he'd undergone to 'keep them safe' that they left him the bloody hell alone, the knife and the broach remained though, as he had no real use for them, along with copies of his notes.

After several hours of discussion the Explorers League had weighed the pros and cons - given the thorough written reports of the items in question and the summoning of the spirit who owned them - they begrudgingly let the mage off to do more research on the applications of ancient knowledge hidden within that was only of any use to a magic user.

Though that did come with the stipulation of taking Trixie as a formal student, something Menma didn't really mind, as having a tiny partner to come on stupid adventures with him whilst he studied the finer points of magical manipulation was nothing if not useful.

It was when Agatha decided to 'visit' Stormwind for a time that he took minor umbrage with - given her penchant for making him feel foolish - but nevertheless she was an adult and he wouldn't rebuke her travel habits.

No matter how much he wished to.

Menma swung into the merchant's district on a whim, he wanted to acquire a few things before leaving - a few spools of spider silk and perhaps some mageweave - but mostly he just wanted to have a sit down a hearty meal before returning to Stormwind.

Trixie sat in front of him, eyeing the broach that was clasped onto his scarf whilst his staff sat between his legs, leaning on his shoulders, "Uh, Teacher."

"Menma. Don't bother with Teacher, the last month and a bit of work has worked for our grace period of formality, Trixie.." Menma rebuked with a wave of his hand, getting a small smile in return.

Agatha snorted from her seat, probably some filthy thought floating about her head.

"What are we gonna do next?" Trixie questioned, big eyes looking up at him with unrestrained curiosity.

"Returning to Stormwind, after that I was thinking of investigating a few things in Duskwood, hopefully I'll be able to make some headway with a few things there." Menma informed with an idle look to the ceiling of the Inn.

" _I'm curious, what exactly do you intend to find?_ " Questioned Yol, as he stood at the head of the table, Menma looked to him - which did not go unnoticed by the other two - " _Something of merit? Or idle curiosity?_ "

"Last I heard there was an infestation of undead at the Raven Hill Cemetery, in Duskwood. The Night's Watch - the local militia - is spread thin, and the Stormwind military is off doing campaign after campaign against the Horde forces. The poor fools are too stubborn to leave, that being said I can admire their hardiness in the face of adversity." Menma informed the spirit, getting a vague noise of enlightenment.

" _Ahh, I see. It will be good work we do then, I look forward to it._ " Yol sat down with a smile and nodded.

"Interestin' choice, lad." Agatha muttered into her pint, "Any reason you wanna dig around in a graveyard though?"

"If it hastens the downfall of the undead, I'm more than happy to participate." Menma said simply, Trixie sparkled with admiration at that, "And it's not unlike I do so without reward, if exterminating an orcish incursion in Redridge is worth three hundred gold to the King, I imagine I can get a bit more to remove some undead in Duskwood."

Trixie apparently thought his ideals to be purely altruistic, but it seemed after a quick internal struggle she saw his position, "I suppose we've gotta make a living."

The gnome spoke more to herself than him, but he responded regardless.

"In the perfect world I'd wander about getting only as much as I need before moving from place to place, researching, but magic is both the poors man's trade, and the most expensive." Menma said with a slightly forlorn look in his eyes.

"I guess." The littlest one said with a small frown of her own.

"Buck up ye surly kids, save yer grumblin' for the dead." The two mages smirked at one another at Agatha's indictment.

"Whatever helps you sleep at night." The elder mage responded with a grin, taking a bite from his leg of boar and chasing it with ale, "I could just be waiting to lure a young nubile mage into the woods to burn things with her."

" _That is rather fun._ " Yol admitted idly, laughing quietly to himself.

"Hoo-ooh! I always knew your passions burned for more than arson." Agatha teased with a hearty chuckle.

Sometimes it amazed him how short-term friends like Agatha could be so incredibly comfortable with him, the Lady of his house told him he had a 'natural charisma' Menma wasn't so sure but times that the one in the inn that night made him believe in it.

Lady Prestor would have told him; lull them all into a false sense of security, but remember that a truly powerful being, stands atop the spires of victory _alone_.

That was probably the lesson that stuck most over the years.

And yet even with those lessons, even with the idea that at the end of it all it'd be him standing up top, people still were drawn in.

It made him wonder.

"Right, well I'm gonna go to bed. I'll see you both in the morning." Menma said simply, downing the remainder of his drink and leaving the table.

"You barely touched your dinner!" Trixie called out, Menma looked at her in shock, three pork-steaks and a leg was barely!?

"What do they feed you guys around here?" He asked aloud, but shook it off, "I'm tired. I'll see you in the morning."

" _Ah come now, that was quite fun why stop now my friend?_ " Yol'Tithian questioned idly as the youth sat upon the end of the rented bed, looking at the wall in contemplation.

"Because sustaining you _and_ conversing is tiring.." Menma replied simply as he begun fishing through his pouches.

" _Truly? But your reserves have barely, dipped._ "

"I'm a shut in by nature, comes with how I was raised. I've not had any real time to myself in a month and a half." Menma mumbled in explanation.

" _Hmm, interesting. I've not met many like you, who showboat with such grandeur._ "

"Lady Prestor told me that, 'If one cannot be noble, one my pretend to be noble.' Basically, fake it 'till you make it. If I present myself a certain way people believe it, eventually I managed to convince myself ." Menma huffed out a thick breath as he sat down on his bed and sighed into his hands.

" _Quite the mouthful._ " Yol admitted as he began walking towards the younger magus, intent on returning to the amulet for now, " _Very well though, I'll not continue down this path for the moment, rest well my young friend._ "

"Thanks, Yol." Menma said with a small smile and kicked off his boots.

* * *

 **Stormwind; Prestor House**

After taking the tram Menma and Trixie ended up in the noble section of the city. And in doing so was given the impromptu meeting with the one and only, Lady Prestor.

Lady Katrana Prestor was enjoying some tea as the sun began to rise into the sky, the sky was clear and the air was crisp, a small frown marred her face. Her 'child' had single-handedly ripped apart the incursion of her brother's forces encroaching upon Redridge, the little Mage proved to be incredibly power and resourceful, but he was slowly becoming more a hindrance than a use.

Katrana calmed herself though, it was due to the limited influence she had or exerted over the young man, he'd never really grown too terribly attached to her, which was fair to some extent he was already a boy grown by the time she'd come into his life, and _very_ bullheaded at that.

Probably had something to do with the annoying woman of a mother he had in Lordaeron, Kushina Uzumaki. A redheaded mother always guaranteed a brat, or so the saying went.

The woman was as headstrong as an ox, and her husband _ugh_ that man was far too saccharine sweet for his own good.

Katrana set her tea down and sighed to herself, between manipulating Varian, holding sway over Bolvar, and keeping little Anduin oblivious, her days were rather stressful. How she'd like a small time away from the scheming, which in itself that call for reprieve was almost heretical in thought, Black Dragons did not shy away from scheming, they were _always_ prepared to play the long game.

Perhaps it was being around these humans for so long? They'd made her sluggish, impatient.

A sudden burst of noise down stairs drew her thoughts away from her own minor begrudgments as heavy boot steps began trudging through her house, her room, towards her balcony.

Out of her home was her 'child', the little creature whom had consumed her thoughts for a few minutes now, "Hello my Lady, I've come to visit."

"What are you doing here, child?" She demanded a slight confused, with narrowed eyes.

"Thought I'd come say hi... hi." And with the grace of a thousand dancers, he said with a strangled noise coming from his throat, he always been particularly vulnerable to her rather draconian gaze.

Probably over-exposure.

"I see… well come in then, take off your shoes their no doubt filthy, and introduce me to this little friend of yours." With that the woman walked into the upper-crust home and the various servants around the house busied themselves.

It also probably didn't help that something about the boy always got her hackles up, something that made her very blood alight with fire whenever he made even the slightest transgression, usually she'd cool her head and think clearly, but it seemed her day would start on the left foot.

Menma, with his obscenely long boots tripped loudly at her doorstep, shattering Trixies illusion of his incredible poise.

"Foolish boy." Prestor said fondly, though a familiar scent did proceed him. "Ancient Magicks…" older than even she, upon further inspection it seemed to hover over her boy's body like a fine mist but originated from his staff.

"How incredibly curious…" Reptilian eyes gazed over the young mage hungrily.

 _ **End.**_

 _ **Hopefully you enjoy this re-write, as previously it was complete trash.**_

 _ **Raxychaz!**_


	3. Chapter 3

Aside from the servants bustling about of the servants the Prestor household was deathly quiet, the clinking of cutlery and crockery as the kitchen prepared breakfast and those outside of it offered tea.

"So… you plan to continue with your plan to exterminate the undead at Raven Hill, or are you going to play with ancient artefacts some more?" Lady Katrana Prestor asked blandly, her expression somewhat jaded.

Menma looked at her with a similar expression. "Yes… I figured after spending a month and a bit in the snow, the gloom of Duskwood would do wonders for my complection."

"And why is it, you decided to come to my home, if you're just going to do as you already informed me?" Katrana asked, as the immaculate butler presented the breakfast nook with finger-food before breakfast.

"I need a meeting with the King, to get a decree that I'm not wasting my time by going to hell and back for nothing." Menma said with a quiet severity.

Katrana smirked, finally breaking her blank facade, "So that's it. You believe that I could get you what you need?"

Menma narrowed his gaze, "Because you're in his ear every other minute of the day and if I can't expedite the process by going through you, It's pointless to try."

"Why so eager to get out again? You just returned." Katrana asked, her eyes narrowing to match his own, the boy was eager, too eager.

"Because." Was all he said.

" _Because I'd very much like to see the world._ " Yol cut in, though no one else could see him, and Menma was still somewhat unused to his popping in, the young man's eyes darted to the figure, who grinned brightly.

"Because I need something to do, I don't like sitting on my hands. And that's basically what I've been doing in Khaz Modan this whole time." Menma said with a sigh.

"It wasn't _that_ bad." Trixie assured the woman, who smirked at the gnome but said nothing. Trixie felt for the barest of a moment, that she was standing in front of a towering monster, not a beautiful woman.

And Menma was raised by this woman?

"I suppose I could drag the King to sign a simple document… for the right price." Lady Prestor _grinned_ at her Scion and the young man nodded, no hesitation that was something she liked about him.

"What I want you to do is take young Anduin with you." Menma's brain stopped working for a moment.

" _Excuse you?_ " Demanded the mage, incredulous was one way to put it.

"Yes. The boy needs real world experience, and as he was born before the troubles of the scourge, he needs to be reminded of the dangers the undead and those that dabble with them, pose. So I want you and your little friend here, to take Anduin with you on this little expedition. Fret not darling, guardsmen will be going with you."

"Even if that's the case how in the hell would you convince the Dadliest King of Azeroth to allow his 'golden' boy to leave? This is the same man that after losing his wife, swore a _blood feud_ with the Defias Brotherhood!"

Even if he didn't have issues with taking a 12 year old into the heart of Duskwood, it'd also put a massive damper on another reason for his going.

Raven Hill, the 'safest' place in Duskwood was the only place in all of the massive forest of dead things and cursed creatures that had a registered Flight Master, that meant that not only did it have the protection of its militiamen, it also had a massive flock of dangerous griffins ready and able to tear apart anything.

A few kilometres south of Raven Hill was a chain of silver and the literal gold mines, in the heart of Worgen territory, if he not only had to worry about the eyes from Raven Hill, the Guardsmen _and the prince!_ He'd never make any headway clearing out those mines.

The idea behind the mines, was wholly selfish. He wanted independence and using those mines would get him the means to have such.

Trixie looked like she'd swallowed a lemon, barely present at that point as the idea of escorting royalty became far too real.

"Young Master, your food." Sebastian strode back into the room with a silver tray in one hand, he placed it down and removed the lid, Menma was hit by the heavenly aroma of Angela's cooking, the woman in charge of all kitchen delights within the Prestor house.

"Thank you Sebas'…" Menma said, his gaze gaining some distance as he seemingly stared into the air.

"Is something the matter, Young Master?" Sebastian questioned, a shine of concern in his red gaze.

"No Sebas, but thank you for asking." Menma dismissed the swirl of thoughts in his head and waved the butler off, he had no need to burden his mind with these things when the Prince would likely not even join him, the King was far too protective of his progeny to even let it happen.

Nevertheless he needed to inform his mentor about this.

Menma flicked his wrist and conjured an Arcane Familiar, the shape of which was dubbed a 'Pseudodragon' about the size of a Faerie Dragon, but was more akin to a winged serpent in structure, small ridged horns rested out the back of the tiny creature's head its scales were a dull brass colour.

Menma rummaged his pouches and produced his reports on the artefacts he'd recovered, with a quick Gemini spell the report duplicated.

A simple spell he'd managed to make during his youth, 'Gemini', simply put, it duplicated whatever you cast the spell on, though if you duplicated the copy it would fizzle out in about a minute.

Menma rubbed its chin for a moment as he presented the report between to his minion. "Now, you know where to take this, go there and bring back any messages he sends."

The Pseudodragon chittered for a moment, smoke rising from its nostrils. "Listen here you little brat." Menma grouched at the creatures defiance, his form looming over it, though he remained seated. "I'll not put up with your trifling greed, you'll get your reward when you've returned, no sooner."

The reptile nodded and snatched the report into its jaws before flying off out a nearby window.

"Interesting creature, Young Master." Sebastian noted, having never seen such a being before.

"It was tricky to bind it, considering how stubborn dragons can be, though I guess the little bugger was some love child between a black and a red given his scales, I could be wrong though." Menma said with a shrug, picking at the remnants of his breakfast.

Katrana snorted in derision, but said nothing else.

Sebastian smiled, though one could clearly see the amusement in his eyes at the idea, he remained quiet.

"Well, I think Trixie and I will take our leave, call on me when you need to, Lady Prestor." The niceties had to be observed at least somewhat, Menma stood up, followed hastily by Trixie and the duo bowed politely, getting a graceful tilt of the head from the Lady before being gestured to leave.

"Have a good on, Sebas'." Menma broke the illusion or propriety by grinning and walking out the door, getting a fond smile from the older male and another huff of amusement from the Lady.

* * *

 **Mage Quarter; Three Hours Later**

Menma had bathed thoroughly, when he returned home. Argen awaited and accepted the discarded robe and scarf, the suit of armour collected each piece of collected cloth its master left in his wake towards his tub, drawing the curtains Menma snapped a finger and incense burners began to simmer away, the air slowly filling with particles of glowing mana.

Menma sunk into the waters within, tiny sprites of conjured flame dancing around the bottom of the steel tub, Argen stood at the door with a new set of clothes folded over one of its arms Menma ignored the suit and dunked his head into the water, holding his breath a few seconds and getting some private thought time.

What was Katrana's goal with this little move? Taking Anduid _babyface_ Wrynn out for a stroll in fucking Duskwood of all places? The woman must have lost her mind.

Or she's planning something and the boy can't be around.

Great now he wouldn't be able to sleep properly while the little shit was around, because who knows if the guards are in on it or not!

Damnable woman, that Prestor.

But what to do? He really didn't have enough information to really navigate around her current 'play', so he supposed he had to dance to the tune for the moment and be a good little boy, taking the prince with him.

Nevertheless he was going to try and convince Varian to keep Anduin close… perhaps that could work? Present himself as an ally instead of a servant?

Sure, he'd scuffed Varian's chin with a Scorch spell, but that was a decade ago, the many probably didn't even remember it. Or if he did, he didn't care, because Varian 'UltraDad' Wrynn didn't seem to notice much outside Katrana and Anduin, mostly the latter.

He knew this because of his eavesdropping habit, no one ever seemed to notice a hawk for some reason.

Somewhat the caveat of his skills, the only polymorph he could successfully do was on himself, and it was only birds. For some reason.

* * *

Emerging from the waters Menma stood in the tub, the sprites of fire curiously looking up at their creator in all his naked glory. "Argen." Menma said steadily, and firmly, the helmet turned to 'meet his gaze'.

"Please collect my staff from outside." He ordered as he dressed, the suit of armour gripped the staff like a vice and remained unmoving.

" _Any reason for that?_ " Yol questioned, looking at the younger mage with a quirk of his elven brow.

"I don't want Trixie trip on it, it probably fell onto the ground I was a little hasty in putting it up."

" _And you don't just have it within in reach?_ " Yol'Tithian said with a chuckle. " _Your so strange._ "

"I'm in my own home, I don't need to be alert here, besides Argen can find intruders faster than I can." Probably.

Maybe.

Did he enchant the thing to have a patrol function?

…

Fuck.

Wait, no it's fine. The suit listened to commands so it just had to be told.

Wow, he needed to hang out with Warlocks more, their paranoia would help him think of this stuff sooner.

* * *

 **Stormwind Keep; Royal Throne Room**

Lady Katrana Prestor was discussing what was to be done about the incursion of Duskwood, and the Defias problems of Westfall, even of the disturbing Horde foothold in Stranglethorn Vale, with the King Varian Wrynn, Lord Bolvar Fordragon and a few other choice nobles within the city.

"We can't let those green beasts get a foothold on our lands, my King." A wealthy noble said with worry, he was a middle aged man and well built for his station, clearly trained to fight if not actively doing so, Lord Burles Wishock, a frequent patron of the Slaughtered Lamb in the Mage Quarter.

"I agree, but what would you have us do, Wishock? There's only so many men to deploy." Another woman said, her hair like spun copper and eyes like a rainstorm, she wore a dark blue dress and had long blue gloves on that reached just past her forearm, Lady Eliza Vanyst.

"Perhaps repurpose some of the men from Redridge and Westfall? Those areas are somewhat quieter than they have been at the moment." A much older man said, with visibly greyed hair, Lord Gregor Lescovar, donned in sublime red and white robe, with a silver circlet on his brow.

"And if we emptied those posts, the trouble would immediately start back up again, Redridge is only _just_ recovering from an orc incursion of its own, Lord Lescovar." Varian Wrynn said with a noticeable frown on his face, making the elder man settle.

"Could we not supplement these holds with adventurers?" The Lord replied easily, "It was one who ended the Blackrock incursion in Redridge, yes?"

Wishock sighed into his beard, "The Redridge… 'incident' was a powerful young mage, not just an adventurer, I believe in the spirit of these people but it would take more than just one of them to make up for so many guards, and most of our usual contractors are dealing with issues around the Burning Steppes and Badlands."

"Ah yes, striking at the heart of the issues, as it were." Lord Lescovar said with a hum of understanding, "A shame."

"My Lords, surely you're forgetting that the 'Incident' Mage is currently inside Stormwind, could we not send him along to Stranglethorn with a small guard contingent as backup? We all know the destructive power they're capable of." Lady Vanyst said

"Yes, but should we be relying on singular adventurers to assist us instead of guilds?" Bolvar Fordragon said with a pointed look.

"If I may, my ward has requested a writ similar to his previous one to cleanse the Raven Hill cemetery area of Duskwood, I'm sure if we add a little sweetness to the pot he'd go and and deal with the Stranglethorn issue, and if he'd preoccupied it gives us time to move around troops." Katrana said.

"That could work… we've long neglected Duskwood." Varian admitted with a frown.

"My King, would it not make more sense to send Paladin's in place of a Mage?" Wishock said with a quirked brow.

"Lord Wishock has the right of it." Bolvar Fordragon said, considering this. "Sadly, the order is still recovering from the last war with the greenskins."

"A small unit of newer Paladins would still be more suitable than a single Mage, surely." the older man rebuked.

"And yet convincing the order would be harder than you'd think, Lord Wishock." Varian interjected with a firm hand, "They're more insular than most would think, and training recruits takes time and effort they cannot afford to waste."

"Hmm." Katrana sounded off thoughtfully, there was always a solution.

* * *

Katrana waited until the meeting came to a close, a full three hours later, before approaching Varian once more.

"My King, I've a suggestion if you'd care to listen to it." Varian turned to her and smiled warmly.

"Of course, Lady Prestor. I've always time for you." He gestured her on as she gave him a smile of her own.

"My ward - as we spoke about - intends to cleanse the undead incursion within Duskwood, though we may not have come to a conclusion on conscripting the Paladins to aid, I was hoping you'd do me the favour of sending him aide, from a trustworthy practitioner of the Light."

Varian considered this, it seemed he'd slowly begun to accrue a debt to the young firespitter, service to Stormwind's people was equal to service to the throne, in his eyes. A small favour in return, whether known or not, didn't seem unreasonable.

"I'm certain I can arrange that, though the matter of _who_ certainly stands." Varian said with a thoughtful look on his face.

"I'm sure he'd appreciate that, my king." Lady Prestor said, getting a grin from the man.

"Please, Katrana when we're alone you may call me Varian." The King assured, "I suppose all that's left is to send for one of the brothers from Cathedral Square, hopefully the priesthood is more receptive than I _know_ the Order would be."

"A suggestion if I may, Varian." At his attention once more she continued, "I believe it would be worthwhile to send your son Anduin along, he's a practiced young man and has grown quite quickly in his skills with the light. If a small squadron of guards were to go along as well he'd be completely safe, between the sheer force my ward puts out and the stalwart nature of your knights."

Varian's knee-jerk reaction was to say no, of course he'd say no. It was his son! A boy barely twelve years of age, but something stilled his tongue and he pondered.

If Varian never gave his boy the time to grow like his own father had, he'd be stifled and wouldn't develop properly.

That being said, it would be a massive undertaking and the amount of trust he'd be putting into the young mage would be colossal.

"Before I decide anything, send for you ward. I'd speak with him. Alone." Varian said, his face severe and grave, Katrana blinked but nodded quickly and left the room to dispatch a messenger.

As she left, Bolvar Fordragon returned, and stood at his kings side.

"Bolvar, could you retrieve Anduin for me." Varian asked, not as his king but as his friend, Bolvar nodded immediately.

"Of course, Varian. I'll be but a moment."

Varian Wrynn, son of Llane Wrynn. Contemplated upon his throne.

For every positive to sending his son, his mind railed against this rationale and demanded he keep his progeny close by, safe and secure.

His own experiences were mostly of training, and tutoring, one of the few times the outside world truly struck Varian was as a child, when Stormwind was being burned to its frames and Garona Halforcen slew his father.

 _Orcs…_

Varian's grip on his throne tightened at that memory.

"You wanted to see me, father?" A voice cut Varian from his reverie and he saw his beloved son, all he had left of his family and his wife Tiffin, his sole blood in the world.

Blond, just like his mother, but with Varian's blue eyes, though deeper than the man himself, almost like sapphires.

Varian smiled and gestured the boy forward, hugging his son closely for a few moments his mind refocused.

"How are your studies, my son?" Asked the King, whilst a small boy, Anduin couldn't exactly practice the sword yet, not until manhood began to really show in him, so he kept to his books, and archery, along with keeping to the Light, like any good man.

"They go well father, Father Anderson thinks I'll be able to start casting Power Word: Shield soon." Anduin told him brightly, every time his son smiled, Varian couldn't help but join him.

"Marvelous." Whilst Varian did hold an inherent bias towards magic, seeing steel and mettle as the ultimate weapon, he wanted to encourage his son in all things.

"Uncle Bolvar said you needed me for something though, what was it?" Asked the Prince, curiously.

Varian nodded to himself, getting back on track, though before he spoke aloud an idea formed fully in his head, and he had to resist the grin on his face from interrupting, "There is an opportunity to work alongside Father Anderson and a Magus to cleanse the town of Raven Hill from its various curses and Undead attacks, along with a contingent of Guardsmen I was wondering if you wished to go along? To further your studies but to also know the enemy that will always be there."

Anduin's face went from cautiously excited to abject terror at the mention of the Undead.

Bolvar looked quite distraught himself, though handled himself better, "My King, surely you jest?"

"I do not, an opportunity like this doesn't come along often, to be able to see the face of the enemy, gain context, and yet be safe? How often has that occured for you, Bolvar?" Varian asked rhetorically.

The Highlord paused for a moment, "I could go along as well, I _am_ a Paladin, my King."

Varian considered this, and so Bolvar pressed on, "If I were to go in the stead of Father Anderson - a goodly man but not a fighter - I could protect the Prince as well, should he decide to go along with the Magus."

"Are you capable of cleansing the lands though, Bolvar? Is that a skill your poses? The scourge infestation of Raven Hill cemetery has been there for quite a time." Varian responded, stern.

Anduin seemed to have plucked courage from wherever he was keeping it and said, "I-I know several cleansing rituals, father. If I worked with Uncle Bolvar I'm sure we could do it!" There seemed to be a spark of excitement in his eyes, hesitance tempering but not overwhelming.

"Well then, it seems we have a resolution." Varian smiled lightly, "Bolvar, why did you not suggest yourself in the meeting?"

Bolvar had a pinched expression when he spoke but did so cordially, "I was going to offer myself up, outside of the meeting regardless, my lord. I wished not to share with the other lords, as they may think it unseemly, foolishly."

This seemed to amuse Varian more than anything.

"Guest for you milord." A Knight said, having heard a knock on the other side of the wooden doors leading down into the keep.

"Let them in." Varian sat straighter on his throne as the doors swung open.

It had been many years since he'd seen the boy - now young man - before him. Previously in rags and with fire on his fingers, now dressed in finery and with a cool demeanor.

A staff of ornate and ancient make clasped firmly in one hand and the other freely at his side, though Varian could see the tenseness in his stance.

At his side was a gnomish mage, something Varian didn't expect, all things considered, but she seemed excited to be there nonetheless.

The voice that drew Varian from his observations carried the same barely-contained-fire that it did before, "My King Varian, Prince Anduin, Highlord Bolvar a good afternoon to you all."

"And you, Scion of Prestor, Menma." Varian responded in kind, observing the niceties of nobility.

"May I present, Trixie Blastfuse, of the Ironforge Mystic Order. She's my apprentice." Menma bowed slightly and gestured with his free hand to the gnome, who gave an admittedly adorable curtsy.

"An honour your majesty."

Varian nodded and accepted the greeting, before he begun speaking, "So, your Lady Prestor has informed me of your intent to cleanse a section of Duskwood, might I ask what brought this on?"

Menma straightened up before answering, "Aside from the fact that they clearly need the help, and undead incursion upon my-our lands, is worthy of extermination with extreme prejudice. The only reason I did not request backing beforehand was due to lack of faith in my own abilities."

"And you have acquired this faith now?" Varian asked doubtfully, deciding to play a little hardball.

"Between the artefacts uncovered in Khaz Modan along with the assistance of Trixie and the spectre within this amulet, I'm equipped to deal with a few restless corpses." Menma answered blandly, though his fist clenched tightly on the haft of his staff.

"I see." The King said indulgently, "And what grand difference has this trip given you?"

"Aside from the fact that I could bathe the entirety of the graveyard in fire with only moderate effort, I believe between myself and my apprentice, we can deduce a way to fully lift whatever curse is on the land." The Mage said, only the most practiced would notice the gritting of his teeth.

Varian smiled behind a hand and nodded, "Very well, a reward of four hundred gold upon completion of your task, with the stipulation that Highlord Bolvar Fordragon and Prince Anduin Wrynn accompany you, with a squad of four Stormwind Knights."

The King saw the immediate change in the young man's stance, from severe to exasperated, "The witch actually convinced you to do it…"

Varian had a very private chuckle to himself later about that exact look.

 **End.**

 **Been a while, but that's because reasons.**

 **Life is a bit fucking mayhem laden right now so forgive me.**

 **I don't know if I'll end up having a proper crew again like in my first swing at a Warcraft story, but more actual crossover elements will come later down the line, so be patient for those.**

 **Hope you enjoyed it, if you did lemme know I always get a kick out of reading your thoughts.**

 _ **Raxychaz**_


	4. Chapter 4

The trip though Westfall to Duskwood was eventless as a squadron of white and blue armoured knights of Stormwind surrounded the prince, and within that circle of protection was Lord Bolvar Fordragon, Scion of House Prestor Menma and Apprentice Arcanist Trixie Blastfuse, accompanying Prince Anduin directly.

Menma's usual habit of talking to himself - one could suppose now also Trixie would be involved - had a lid put on it because of the need to maintain some measure of decorum.

And the Prince was channeling his scared rabbit abilities because the poor boy seemed to have already lost his nerve, looking upon the approaching gloom with trepidation.

Lord Bolvar was surprisingly personable though, not at all like that statuesque man he'd seen at the King's side from time to time, though it was more than likely 'Uncle Bolvar' trying to help young Anduin.

The four Knights were interesting choices, he'd already gotten a small dossier on each of them courtesy of Katrana's butler, Sebas. Strange man, but a good one.

First was Sir Nathaniel Briar, a middle aged man who fought in the war against the first Horde invasion. Somehow both managing to survive the conflicts and also continue into aged service. The man exuded the aura of badass old man, though was only about forty-five.

Knight Jonnathan Strolk, a younger man, about the age of 20 or so, had a burly figure - like he had dwarf blood in him - and was a few inches shorter than Menma himself, the man was stoic but not in an intimidating sense, it was like looking at an oak tree, a sort of serene stoicism.

The youngest of them was a mere squire who served Lord Bolvar, his cousins son, Alastor Fulgrim, Bolvar barely knew the lad before he'd taken him on as his squire, to the point where when he was looking for a squire and took him on, Alastor took a month to even bring up their relation.

He was a squirely thing, thin and wispy but his eyes held a keen gaze, with a glance it was like the boy could spot any weakness, in Bolvar's opinion he'd be an excellent addition to SI:7 but apparently he wished to be a knight.

Menma looked to the little prince and smiled slightly down at the skittish boy as they crossed the border from Westfall and into Duskwood, "Nervous, my prince?"

The young man didn't even hesitate to nod, "I am… but I must be brave, we're helping the people I'll one day rule over, and I have to do my best to help them, in any way I can."

Bolvar smiled warmly at his prince, something Menma saw and had to agree was equal parts adorable and incredibly mature, "A good mindset, little man."

Anduin looked up at the stylish(?) mage and gave a small smile of his own, "I want to be a man my father can be proud of."

Something about that kind of hit Menma in his heart, in more ways than one the little prince was his junior, but something like that wasn't born of naivety, it was born of genuine passion and belief.

It made him question if his parents would be proud of him, with his career choice and his personage.

On one hand, he'd assume they'd be happy given how he'd grown up into what he'd like to think was a decent person, on the other there were genuinely bad parts of his person that he _should_ correct.

Decided to pick the brain of those around him he posed a question, "What's your opinion of the Horde, little prince… and the rest of you?"

Anduin thought about it for a moment, though instead of him, it was Bolvar who answered, "I would say that most of the Horde hold a firm grasp of traditionalist honor, though there are those who surrender to baser, crueler aspects to be sure."

Diplomatic, was how Menma would describe it.

The Lord continued, "Whilst we have no end of troubles with our warring factions, there are times I see peace being approachable, at least."

"Except the bloody undead." Alastor said with a low tone, his face marred with distaste, "Bloody rotting corpses should be in the ground, I say."

"Tolerance, my squire. It could save your life one day." Bolvar scolded gently, getting a hesitant nod from his pupil.

Anduin finally spoke up though, Menma's eyes having not left him, "I think… that if we worked together with the Horde, everyone could achieve so much more for the betterment of Azeroth…"

"I think the orcs should be razed into the dirt they live in, and that the undead should be sent back to the abyss they crawled out of." Jon said with a low growl emanating from his helmet.

"But don't we all have a right to life, Sir Knight?" Anduin asked, "The priests teach that the Light accepts all who worship, regardless of race or birth. Even some Undead retain their ability to use the Light."

Jon had to admit the little prince had him there but remained stalwart, "A right to life, perhaps. But not a right to butcher and slaughter like those monsters have done, the internment camps showed what greenskins are like without their wars and battles, stupid animals that surrender to lethargy, they're all but made for war and war alone."

Jon's voice audible strained to maintain composure, "Forgive my candor your majesty, but I think whilst some Orcs have proven themselves to be honorable, most still have to pay for the crimes of their forefathers, look to the Blackrock Orcs for instance, our people are constantly beset by them."

Anduin nodded, actually willing to dive further into this debate, "I understand that there will always be bad blood between our peoples, but is a better future not worth striving for? A world we can leave in the hands of our children when we're too old to make real changes?"

That made Jon go quiet, he seemed to be digesting those words.

Menma was actually pulled up somewhat by that, who knew the little prince had such far sighted vision for the world?

For all the hate in his heart, he knew that Anduin was right, of course he was, a world at peace, where no one had to fear the dreaded claws of a warborne death? That sounded excellent. It just sounded so unrealistic to the mages ears.

' _I suppose that Varian did a pretty great job raising this one._ ' Menma admitted to himself, smirking somewhat, whilst the man had to raise Anduin alone, whilst also being a monarch, he made wise choices by surrounding the young man with good people it seemed.

Menma often experienced the world by comparing situations to his own, for example, Anduin and his idealistic world view, when compared to his somewhat hardheaded, pragmatic father.

It made him strain to pull memories of his own childhood, he really couldn't sadly, he had vague impressions and memories of his redheaded mother, and his blond father - his black hair made no sense to him either - most of his memories involved his grandfather, Tobirama.

No in fact, most of his formative growth came under the watchful gaze of Lady Prestor, and whilst it certainly wasn't a bad way to grow, it was by no means a household of love and warmth, Katrana wanted him for something, and he knew that, whatever her sweet words and gentle tones, she didn't care for him in any real way, she was using him as she used so many other people in Stormwind.

Like pieces on a chess board.

It actually made him somewhat envious of Anduin, foolishly enough, he envied his close relationship with his father, whereas Menma had no father figures in his life, he pitied the boy for his lack of maternal figure but couldn't put any real feeling behind that pity as his maternal figure was a manipulative witch.

'Twas an odd experience to be sure.

"What about you?" Anduin asked the young Mage at his side, the only sound being the trotting of horses and the distant howls of Duskwood for a few moments whilst Menma formed his thoughts.

"Depends on the day I'm asked, to be honest." Began Menma, "I have a deep hatred for the Blackrock Clan, mostly because I've seen what they do to people they capture and kill, it's… not pretty."

"My parents were killed in the scourging of Lordaeron, so I'm not exactly fond of the Undead but I find as time moves on my hatred for moving corpses is harder to hold on, it's like hating a wild animal, they do as they're compelled to." Menma rationalised, though more to himself than to anyone else.

"The Horde itself… I'm honestly torn, there are parts that expand and do damage to those around them, and yet a massive chunk of their forces remain in Durotar, Mulgore and the now vacant Tirisfal Glades, so once again I find hatred of a distant enemy harder to hold on to."

Menma finalised his thoughts thusly, "I suppose I'd need motivation to seek and destroy members of the Horde but as of now I'm more focused on the threats near my home, my worldview is still quite small."

Anduin seemed to accept that for the moment as within moments they'd come upon Raven Hill, the misconception about Duskwood was that it was a seemingly endless, gloomy wood that seemed to stretch on for days, but in reality it was only a dozen kilometres across, much like Elwynn Forest itself.

It was just the way that most people patrolled that gave these places such vaunted trip lengths, by foot usually.

Either way, when they arrived at the base of Raven hill they were given sight to what once was.

The small town of Raven Hill was dilapidated, the wood was rotted and blackened as though through some manner of unnatural means, the magic in the air was stale on Menma's tongue as he rolled it around in his mouth, a grimace crossing his face.

The ground was befouled with dead foliage and the skittering steps of giant spiders lurking in the dimly lit shrubs dotting about the area.

Menma produced a quartet of cinders atop his staff before raising it into the air, four orbs of flame, roughly the size of his fist shot in differing directions, two sinking into the bent over lamp posts that sat at either end of the town, and the other two diving another two times each to create a small halo of light around the village, sitting high enough that no flames would touch the ground, but also low enough to avoid the treetops.

"We'll set up in the Inn, Trixie I want wards placed at the entrance within 10 minutes, Lord Bolvar as a Paladin I hope you can achieve a basic consecration of these grounds?" Bolvar nodded in response easily enough, Menma continued, "Anduin you and the Knights will sweep the basement whilst I check the top floor, if anyone encounters anything I need to know, the more information we can gain as to the nature of this curse, the easier dispelling it will be."

Without another word the mage entered the dilapidated Inn and moved up stairs, staff at the ready with orbs of fire floating about it, simply by willing it a flash of light appeared over his head and a single bauble of arcane energy lit up the entire upper floor of the old inn.

A few lone skeletons, of those that lived there, laid across tattered beds, Menma frowned and willed the bones to float, though it did not work. A little trick his mentor had shown him to determine if the bones were enchanted in some way.

As the skeletons rose up he returned them to the grave with two potent blasts of fire from his free hand, and with a swing of his staff release one of the fireballs kept atop it.

The undead crumbled under the assault, falling to pieces and fracturing. Clearly these were old bones that had only the barest amount of necromantic energy within them.

Menma popped his head into several other rooms, seeing no more of the afflicted bones laying about, he tapped his staff on the ground and cast a simple Detect Magic spell, there was a… ping, for lack of a better word, on his magical radar.

The whole house itself seemed to have some minor curse on it, to draw in undead, no doubt caused by whoever cursed the graveyard itself.

Menma's face crossed with a frown as he thought about how to go about purging this curse.

' _First and foremost I'll need to find the anchors keeping it in the inn, and then go from there._ ' He followed the repeated ping his magic was picking up and was given sight to the anchor because of it.

The anchor itself was admittedly a little cliche, a small linen doll with runes sewn into the stomach, the magic of the doll was noticeably dark, it coloured the air around it a deep, dark grey. As though the aura of the doll itself stained the material world.

Necromantic energy was something that had a morose appeal to him, to be truthful, and he admittedly wanted to know more about how such spells differed to 'normal' magic.

He'd… dabbled, in a little shadow magic in a purely theoretical exchange of arcane magic with one of the Warlocks from the Slaughtered Lamb Inn, within the Mage Quarter of Stormwind.

His mentor was… extremely displeased upon finding this out.

Regardless he pulled out his spellbook and drew the rune within its pages, thought drew a damping rune around it to avoid it drawing any magic from the tome itself.

With a flick of his wrist he destroyed the doll and purge the magic with a mild counterspell infused in his fire.

Bending and mixing spells was becoming much easier as he grew up, he remembered when he first tried the most basic, a Frostfire Bolt, at the behest of his mentor, and almost blew up his arms with unstable magic.

Because he was an idiot.

Menma smirked at the memory and made to leave the upper floor, walking back down stairs he was greeted by Lord Bolvar, the man nodded to him and drew him over.

"The basement is clean, but there are a few… cursed dolls, around the inn that I've noticed, is there anything you can do about this?" The man asked, most likely thinking inciting the light before they begun their mission propper would draw too much attention.

"I can, bring me any you find." Bolvar nodded and without another word he popped off to do just that.

Menma repaired many of the tables and chairs within the eating area of the inn with magic, a simple Mending spell slowly but surely returned all but a few truly ruined pieces of furniture.

* * *

The evening had come and the Inn was fortified, arcane eyes patrolled the exterior whilst charms and wards were placed at each door, and every window. The cellar was their place of rest with a barrier placed at the top of the stairs, Menma spared no time or mana in protecting them, and with Trixie's help he felt comfortable enough to actually rest.

He took great pains to assure their safety because of Anduin's presence, he had no idea what scheme his adopted mother planned but he'd assured himself that he wouldn't be caught up on it, and took to spending time with Anduin to work his way into the boys good books.

Assurance for his own future, as if he could get in good with the future king, it made his life much easier in the long run.

Still, the knights set to taking watch, even Lord Bolvar.

When morning broke, the only sign of it was Trixie's pocket watch buzzing - Menma was unsure why such a feature was installed, but it was.

The first task of shelter was complete so it was onto the beginning of the investigation.

The dolls that lay around the inn were purged but beforehand each and every one was inspected for the same inscriptions, they were anchors for shadow magic that acted as a vacuum and dragged filaments of the void into themselves, staining the building with black magic residue.

What this meant in practical terms was that the site itself was much easier to curse as the dark magic within the curse was amplified by the dolls.

The runes themselves were actually quite ametuer, so clearly whoever cast the curse did so when they were young, or just inexperienced.

Regardless the spell it formed was the most basic Corruption spell, a favourite of Warlocks that traveled the path of Affliction.

Look, he was curious and went to a bar, leave him be.

It was a rather simple cast, didn't require a lot of mana and allowed someone like him - an Evoker Mage (A big ball of destruction) - an edge. So he was going to take it.

Next was creating a consecrated parameter, that's where Anduin and Bolvar came in, the Light was the polar opposite of the Void and thus could purge it from various places, with the Inn itself already cleansed of the anchors it took only a few hours of praying and casting to actually achieve, much faster than Menma expected.

They moved on to the other houses and managed to get almost the entire settlement fixed up by the next nightfall.

* * *

The next morning all awoke to Trixie's watch, the previous nights rest was actually worth it, with the lack of shadow magic trying to mingle with their bodies the humans - and gnome - were able to actually sleep properly.

The thing to do at that stage was to send off for any Light wielders to make their way to the Raven Hill, it was a standing invitation, regardless of anything else they were able to complete their task without backup, but someone would have to be stationed at Raven Hill to keep an eye on it.

Menma and Trixie set out towards the Graveyard to discover what was up, the undead littered the area and they were almost immediately set upon when they came to the gates.

Trixie released a massive Cone of Cold and froze them stiff, Menma spun his staff and released a wave of flames that charred even the frozen bones black, with several long waves of his staff he burned everything around them, the graves and the dirt were distinguishable only because of their headstones.

Menma gazed upon the burnt out graveyard with an almost sheepish expression, Yol snickering behind him, whilst Trixie blinked owlishly.

"Fire cleans all." Menma defended, noticing Trixie's expression though he bore a grin that showed how little he cared.

"That is one way of looking at it." The gnome said quietly.

Both of them turned at the sound of rattling bones, from the ashes of the grave rose _hundreds_ of undead, clawing their way out of the earth and staring with burning red motes inside their hollow heads.

"Oh… oh dear…" Menma said with a blink.

 **End**

 **I dunno, I figured I'd finish this chapter.**

 **If you liked it lemme know.**

 _ **Raxychaz**_


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